


Recruits

by LoveisYonduBlue



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22930555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveisYonduBlue/pseuds/LoveisYonduBlue
Summary: Pre-Vital. A collection of one-shots about how Yondu Udonta and Kraglin Obfonteri recruited their new crew.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 21





	1. Ryx: The Wrong Pocket

Ryx leans against the dirty brick wall, surveying the passersby on the crowded market street. _Too large, I cannot overtake him. Too poor, he is carrying nothing of value. She has mouths to feed, I cannot rob her. Ah. There._ In the distance and walking towards her is a tall, lanky man with a confused look on his face. He seems to be surveying the crowds and the shop signs around him. He stops once in a while to look around, as if to get his bearings. _Undeniably a dope,_ she decides. _But he is wearing leather boots and that poncho is of good quality, so he must have some units on him._ He glances at certain women as they pass him by, and she smiles. She zips down her jacket, pushes up her bra, throws her chest out, and starts making her way through the crowd in his direction.

She hides among a knot of taller Sakaarans to make sure he doesn’t see her coming, then at the last second emerges in front of her mark, pretending to collide with him by accident. “Oof!”

“Ah, shit!” Kraglin exclaims, jumping back. “Sorry, I didn’t see ya! Ya okay?” He bends down to assist the woman he’s knocked over. She’s a Kivax, with light purple skin and a shock of thick white hair down the middle of her head. She has tattoos on the sides of her head and cheeks – and the largest, most gorgeous yellow eyes he’s ever seen. He lets his eyes sweep over her frame – she’s short, doesn’t even come up to his shoulder, and curvy in all the places his eyes lands. “Sorry,” he repeats, feeling heat in his cheeks, as she takes his hand in one of her four.

“No harm is done,” she replies, smiling prettily at him, and he feels his heart patter. “Thank you for helping me up.”

“Sure,” he replies. “Glad y’ain’t hurt.”

She lays a hand on his arm, and he can’t look away from her eyes. “You are sweet. Thank you again.”

His tongue seems to have stopped working, so he just nods and makes a noise like “Uh huh.”

“Good bye,” she says with a final smile, and continues on her way.

Kraglin stays still in the street for a second to stare after her. She looks back over her shoulder and smiles, waves, and starts to disappear into the crowded marketplace. _Wouldn’t mind takin’ a bite outta that,_ he thinks with a lusty smile. _If I didn’t need to meet the Cap’n, I’d ask her fer her name._ _Ah well._ He sighs, and turns back around, resuming his previous mission. He sticks his hand in his pocket. _What was the name a’ this new place again? I wrote it down in –_ He suddenly halts, eyes widening. His wallet – and all of his units - are gone.

His eyes instantly narrow, teeth clenching. _Dammit, Kraglin!_ He whirls on his heel. He can just see the top of the woman’s white hair as she turns a corner. His mouth turns from a scowl into a dangerous smirk. _A’ight, girl. Ya wanna play? We’ll play._

This particular block of town has gone under some closures and there are some new shops, but otherwise Kraglin is familiar with this city. He slips down the nearest alleyway, where he climbs a fire escape to get onto the roof. The buildings are close together, and he leaps neatly from rooftop to rooftop. He has a general idea of direction she’s going, and from up here he can get better vantage point. It’s not long before he spies her, making her way down through a less crowded a side street. She darts down an empty alleyway, and pauses, taking his wallet out of her pocket.

Kraglin studies her for a second, and notices her hair seems unwashed, her clothes shabby and worn. Her feet, bare, are used to hard terrain but are dirty. Silently, Kraglin shimmies down a drain spout and drops to the ground. He draws his blaster.

Ryx counts out the units. It’s more than she was expecting to find, and she’s pleased. She’s about to toss the wallet into a puddle at her feet when she hears a slight whining hum and feels the barrel of a blaster pressed against her head.

“Hands up.”

Slowly, she raises her hands, still clenching the units in one of them and the wallet in the other.

“Turn ‘round. _Slow.”_

She slowly spins to face her aggressor and her eyes widen. It’s the man she pickpocketed. His countenance is calm and from his stance, he obviously knows how to use the blaster in his hand. He holds out a palm. “I think those belong to me.”

She slaps them into his hand and huffs.

“Ya picked the wrong pocket, girl,” he says, stuffing them back into his pocket after glancing at the slip of paper in his wallet. “Not many people got the balls to steal from someone like me. Ya know who I am?”

She shakes her head, pressing her lips together.

“Maybe this’ll help.” He flips his poncho up over his shoulder, and underneath she sees he’s wearing a jumpsuit of maroon leather. He bends down a little, and taps a finger against an emblem on his left shoulder.

With a jolt of simultaneous shock and fear, she recognizes the seven-tongued flame badge. She looks back sharply up into his face. “You’re a Ravager.”

“Sure am. Now then. Turn around, put yer hands behind ya, and don’t try anything funny.”

“What are you doing?” she hisses, and yelps slightly as she feels him secure all four hands together with a series of ties.

“Jus’ making sure ya can’t use yer hands to steal anything else. Yer comin’ with me.” He takes hold of one arm and pulls her towards the side street leading to the main thoroughfare.

“No I am not!” Ryx twists violently out of his hands and stomps her heel hard into his boot.

_“Ouch!”_

She barely gets three steps before a sizzle of blastershot scorches the ground before her and she freezes.

“That weren’t a missfire,” the Ravager says in a low, threatening voice, and she feels him take rough hold of her arms. “Ya do somethin’ like that again and I’ll shoot ya. Ya hear?”

She nods.

“Now come with me.”

The Ravager drags her through the streets and down into the bar district of town. He finally seems to reach his destination, and guides her toward small, low building with a dark awning for its entrance. He pushes her towards this dark opening, but she digs her feet into the ground.

“I am not going inside with you!” she hisses.

“Yeah, ya are.” He hooks an arm about her waist, easily lifting her, and carries her inside. It’s very dark, loud, and smoky. He says a few words to the man inside the door that she can’t hear, then takes her further inside. She can barely see where they’re going until he suddenly bats aside a thick curtain and deposits her on the plush cushioned seat of a booth draping the curtain again behind him.

“If you touch me I will bite your dick off!”

The Ravager gapes at her. _“Damn,_ girl,” he says after a long, staring pause. “That kinda language jus’ ain’t called for. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya.”

“Lil’ firecracker, ain’t she.”

Ryx jumps violently at the raspy, deep voice; she didn’t realize there was anyone else in the booth. She looks across the table, and sees a man lounging in the shadows. His eyes, a deep, dark red, glow slightly in the dark.

“Yessir,” the Ravager answers.

“Uh huh. Ya mind explainin’ what we got here, Krags?”

“She picked m’pocket, Cap’n,” he answers, seating himself beside her and boxing her in.

The other man leans into the light. “Issat right.”

Ryx stares open mouthed at him. His blue, bald head is topped with a fin-like cerebral implant; scars crisscross the right side of his face, and in his hands is an arrow. A golden, metallic arrow. “Y-you’re Yondu Udonta,” she gasps out.

“Tha’s right, darlin’.”

“But – but you are _dead.”_

He chuckles ruefully. “Well, as ya can see, I’m very alive. And so are you, which is curious, since ya stole from my First Mate. Anybody what tries that is usually dead within _seconds_. But I’m sure he has a good reason.” He turns his eyes from her to his companion. “Kraglin?”

She jumps as she feels a knife slice through the bonds holding her hands together, and glances at the Ravager at her side. For the first time, she notices the deep twin scars cutting over his left eye and spilling down onto his cheek. _Kraglin?! He must be Kraglin Obfonteri, Udonta’s lieutenant!_

“Well, she didn’t just pick m’pocket, Cap. She got away. I mean, I caught her,” he says with a shrug, “But not until after it was done and she was gone. So I thought I’d bring her to see you.”

“I see.” Udonta nods, and his eyes rove over her.

“I don’t understand,” Ryx says, looking between the two and rubbing her wrists.

“Yer down on yer luck, ain’tcha girlie? Homeless, by the looks a’ things. Ya need food, a place to lay yer head, and a job to keep ya off the streets. But you ain’t from around here. Ya don’t’ know where to go or what to do, so ya pick pockets to get a hot meal sometimes and maybe a room in a dingy lil’ spot a nothin’ hotel somewhere. Am I right?”

Ryx averts her eyes, but nods.

“Well. If I’m readin’ my First Mate right, and I’m sure I am, he brought ya here because he thought I might want to recruit ya.”

Her head snaps up. _“What?”_

“I’m puttin’ together a new crew, and I need good thieves to steal shit. Tha’s what Ravagers do, in case ya didn’t know.”

She stares from Udonta to Obfonteri. “I _stole_ your money from you. And you want to give me a _job?”_

Kraglin shrugs. “Ya never know where yer gonna pick up good talent.”

“So how about it, girl?” Udonta asks, drawing her attention again. “Steady income, hot meals, and a bunk all to yerself. This offer don’t exist when I leave this booth, so ya got one shot to make up yer mind.”

She chews her lip, eyes darting between Obfonteri and Udonta. She needs to leave her past behind, and this might be the very best way to achieve that goal. She stops chewing her lip, pulls back her shoulders and sits up straight. “Very well, I accept.”

“Good girl,” Udonta says with a grin. “What’s yer name?”

“My name is Ryx T’chera.”

“Ryx, huh? Welcome to the Ranks. Yer gonna be reportin’ to Kraglin here.”

Udonta’s First Mate pulls off a glove with his teeth and sticks a hand towards her. “Welcome aboard, Ryx. Guess ya picked the right pocket after all,” he says, and something about the way he says it – the teasing, gentle tone of it, or the way his silver-capped teeth glint in a smirk in the low light, or maybe it’s his eyes; yes, it’s the way his eyes, a crystal-clear grey-blue sparkle at her – that makes her heart leap in her chest.

She takes his hand in one of hers and grasps it. “I guess so, _sir.”_


	2. Rhian: Sisters Before Misters

Yondu Udonta enters the shop. But for its large size and legendary reputation, there's nothing particularly remarkable about it. Quite the opposite, in fact. All sorts of spaceship and blaster parts and all manner of technological paraphernalia spill untidily out of rusty metal cabinets, worn storage cages and unaligned drawers.

The floor is dusty and grimy. To Yondu’s keen eye, he can tell that this is not intentionally dirty or left uncleaned by carelessness, but by lack of time. There’s a dimness to the entire place; several lights are out or flickering. There's loud humming and electrical noise, broken once and a while by loud clangs and buzzing noises coming from the back.

Yondu approaches the long wooden counter that spans the length of the room and knocks on its stained surface. "Anybody here?" he calls.

"Yeah, out in a mo'!" a female voice shouts back.

A few minutes later, a harried-looking woman pushes through a worn and dingy piece of canvas behind the counter. She's got a piece of machinery in her arms, and she's fiddling with a screwdriver on its casing. She doesn't lift her eyes from the equipment as she enters. "We're full on starship repairs,” she says in an impatient tone as if reciting the line, “There's a wait list over there," she adds, nodding her head absently to the end of the counter at a flickering, lopsided holoscreen.

Yondu studies her. She's an Aakon, with yellow skin and deep blue hair. It's shorn off on one side, but drapes long over her shoulder on the other. He can tell from sight - and knows by reputation - that she is not one to mess with. She's sturdily built, and nearly as tall as he is. 

"Blaster repairs start at 100 Units a pop," she continues, still not looking up, "Speeder repairs at 350."

"I ain't here fer repairs, and I ain't in the market fer buyin' nothin'. I’m here fer you. Yer Rhian Voldaraan, right? Vasuka's daughter?"

At this, the woman finally, sharply, looks up and her mouth drops open. She nearly drops the machinery, too, and fumbles with it in her hands. "Captain _Udonta?"_

"The same," he answers with a flash of teeth.

Her mouth works for a second, as if trying to figure out what to say, before settling on, "What are _you_ doing here?"

Yondu chuckles and leans lazily with one arm atop the counter. "I’ll git straight to it, ‘cause I can tell yer a woman who don’t appreciate no bullshittin’ ‘round. Word on the streets of eighteen planets in three systems is that yer the best engineer around. And I want the best. I'm puttin' together a new crew, and I want you on it." 

He looks around the shop again, letting his statement sink in, and continues, "I know yer momma supplied the Nova Corps and Ravagers alike, and she was widely considered the best the galaxy had to offer. I tried recruitin' her, way back when. But she had a lil' girl to look after." He flashes her another grin. "I assume that was you. I tried again after a bunch a' years, but I heard she went and had more babies. But she _did_ tell me she taught ya everything she knew. My condolences, by the way," he adds in a softer tone. "She was a good woman, to beat all."

"Yes she was," Rhian says. But for the slight shine in the corners of her eyes, she's straight-faced. "And while I'm extremely flattered, sir, I'm sorry to say I have to decline your offer."

"Oh c'mon, girl. Can’t be much keepin’ ya here. Anybody can see that this shop is too much to handle, jus' by yerself. It’s fallin’ apart, and obviously don’t pay enough, else ya would’a hired some help. Even with the Voldaraan reputation, it ain’t enough to pay the bills, am I right?"

She looks stonily at him but doesn’t reply, and her silence tells him he’s correct.

He straightens up and taps the counter with a finger. "Take a day, think about it. Meet me at the Red Gill tomorrow with yer thoughts, 1500 hours."

* * *

"Rhian Voldaraan?"

Yondu turns from his drink at Kraglin's voice, and peers out of the corner booth. Sure enough, Rhian is standing there, not three paces from his First Mate. Kraglin gestures to the booth, and resumes his previous position at the bar, keeping lookout.

The Captain pushes the bottle of Aakon Fire Whiskey across the table. "Still warm, help yerself."

"Thank you, no. I don't drink on business hours."

"Ya gotta loosen up, girl," Yondu says with a chuckle, "But suit yerself." He tops off his own glass. "So. Did ya think 'bout what I said?"

"I'd like to accept your offer, Captain. But I have two conditions."

He takes a sip of whisky, letting it mellow out on his tongue before spreading his hands and leaning back in his seat. "I'm listenin'."

"You hire my two sisters, Attria and Adhara, too."

Yondu scoffs. "Look, girl. I came here lookin' fer an engineer, not a family. Especially no lil' girls."

"They're not little girls. Captain, I might have gotten the perfect mix of my mother's strength and smarts, but Adhara got just as much of the brawn. She's the one who repairs all the weapons, and she's a hell of a gunner. I’m not a bad shot, but she can easily out mark me. And you'll never find anybody with better brains than Attria. There isn’t a piece of tech in this galaxy she can't fix – or improve, and she’s amazing at writing programs."

By the glint in his eye, Rhian can tell that Udonta is intrigued, but he shifts in his seat. "Temptin', but no. I-"

"Let me put it this way, Captain," Rhian says, raising her voice and slapping both hands down on the table, "You have two choices. Either you take us all, or you get nothing. I am not going anywhere without my sisters, and that is _non-negotiable."_

Yondu raises his eyebrows. He surveys her, sipping his drink slowly, before he nods. “I wanna meet ‘em first.”

Rhian’s demeanor changes instantly; her tense shoulders loosen, and she smiles in triumph.

Yondu straightens up and points a finger at her. “I ain’t said _yes_ yet!”

She simply grins back at him. “You will, Captain. I guarantee it. Come by for dinner. 1800 hours. Bring your First Mate; I’ll introduce you.”

* * *

As Rhian leads Yondu and Kraglin to a humble wooden table small, clean house located behind the Voldaraan shop, she calls out, “’Hara! Atty! C’mon, you two! Our guests are here!”

“Race ya!” a younger, rougher, voice calls outside, and there’s the sound of fast footfalls.

A young woman stumbles to a stop inside the door first, turning to grin at the doorway. “Beat ya again!” A second later, another young woman enters, glaring at the first.

In face and height, the pair are identical. The twins have the same deep blue hair and yellow eyes as their older sister, but that is where the similarities stop. The first woman is shorter than Rhian but nearly as muscular, and is sporting a braided hairstyle, teased up into a faux-hawk. She has smudges on her face and her fingers are dark with grease and grime. The second is slimmer and more careful in her movements, her hair braided carefully into a crown on top of her head. She tucks a small holopad into her pocket.

“Girls,” Rhian says sharply, and they stand to attention. “I would like to introduce Captain Yondu Udonta, and Kraglin Obfonteri, his lieutenant.”

“Everybody thought you were dead!” The first woman blurts out, and the second smacks her arm.

 _“Hara!”_ she hisses.

“Well, they _did!”_

“Well, I ain’t,” Yondu says with a brief grin.

“Wash your hands,” Rhian commands, and the girls rush to the sink, and then hurry into their seats on either side of their sister after the task is complete. “Before we eat,” Rhian announces, “Captain Udonta, this is Adhara,” she lays a hand on the shoulder of the more muscular twin, “And Attria.” She pats the head of the twin with the crown braids. “Girls, before we eat, I think the Captain would like to ask you some questions.”

“Go for it,” Adhara says, smugly crossing her arms.

Attria throws her sister an annoyed glance, and sits up straight, her hands clasped on the tabletop.

Yondu smirks and turns to Attria first. “Since ya didn’t have yer hands dirty, I assume yer the tech-savvy girl, huh?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Well then.” He scratches his chin. “Let’s say I got a model T-800 generator. It keeps overheatin’. How would ya recommend I fix it?”

Attria looks at Rhian, who smiles encouragingly.

“Well,” she begins a soft voice, “My first recommendation would be to scrap your T-800 generator. Its manifolds are thin and prone to rupturing. Its lifespan is only about six years, eight or ten if it’s in immaculate condition, and a generator, especially a life-support backup generator like that, is the last thing you want to worry about when you’re in deep space. I would go with a T-1000 model instead. Much better functionality, more durable, greater lifespan by a decade. But if you’re set on fixing the T-800, and it’s overheating, then I would first investigate the cooling and exhaust systems. If the problem doesn’t lie there, then it might be the lubrication system, and the moving parts are just not greased enough. Friction causes heat, you see.”

“Uh huh. Now let’s say we got attacked by a – lemme see. A Nova Corps cruiser, and it got away. How would ya help my Navs track that bastard down fer me?”

“What model of cruiser?”

A smile twitches at the corner of Yondu’s mouth. “Let’s say it’s a new Silver Star-57 model.”

She smiles back. “The new Stars all use that new Ledrothil fuel. I would write a program for the anterior sensors of your ship to pick up that fuel’s signature and follow it. Easy as that.”

Yondu points at her. “The holopad in yer pocket. Lemme see it.”

Attria retrieves it, and hands it to him. He brings up a clear slate on it, and types in some figures. “Tha’s the model and make of the 2nd Quadrant of my ship, where the Control Room is, and the specs on my Nav equipment. Write the program while we talk to yer sister.” He glances at Kraglin. “Adhara here is a gunner. Why don’t ya ask her somethin’, Krags?”

Adhara leans expectantly across the table, smiling cheekily.

Kraglin likewise leans forward in his chair. “The 2.3698a Delta patch just came in fer a bunch of Hiroolyan 27 plasma cannons. What can I expect it to do fer ‘em?”

She frowns at him. “That’s a bullshit question.”

“That mean ya can’t answer?” Yondu asks.

“It’s a bullshit question,” Adhara snaps. “It’s impossible to answer.”

“Why can’t ya answer it?” Kraglin asks, eyes flashing.

“Because it’s a trick question!” She shouts angrily, jumping to her feet.

“Sit down,” Rhian says sternly, “And tell them _why_ it’s a trick question.”

Adhara sits down with a huff. “The patch wouldn’t _work_ on Hiroolyan 27 cannons!” she says in an exasperated tone, rolling her eyes. “They stopped making those guns _twelve years_ ago, and the patch just came out three _days_ ago. If you have Hiroolyan 27s on your ship, you’re shit out of luck. But if you _wanted_ to apply the 2.3698a Delta patch to Hiroolyan canons, it would only work on the Hiroolyan _48s_ , which came out last year. The patch would help them charge faster and would extend their operational window by three hours.”

Kraglin throws a grin at his Captain. “Tha’s exactly right.”

“Done,” Attria says a second later, and passes Yondu the holopad with her completed program.

He looks it over and passes it to Kraglin. “Well?”

Kraglin whistles low. “That’s a piece a’ art right there. That’d work, no question ‘bout it.” He looks over at Attria, who looks very pleased. “Damn, that was _fast_.”

“I told you they were good,” Rhian says proudly, clasping one of her sisters’ hands in each of hers. “What do you say, Captain?”

He looks over the three of them, then grins wide, his gold capped teeth gleaming. “I say we have a deal, Voldaraan.”


	3. Jesper: Whatever it Takes (part 1 of 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s no secret I love Jesper and Kraglin, so this is by far the longest of the Recruits pieces. There will eventually be a part two of this segment.

Jesper takes a deep breath, staring up at the building. It's nondescript; shabby even, just a plain old warehouse. Nothing special on the outside. But inside? Inside, all his hopes and dreams are waiting to become reality. Inside, his hero, the man he has dreamed of meeting since he was a child, waits.

He tightens the bandanna holding his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, shrugs his shoulders and straightens up, hoping he'll look at least respectable as he pushes the doors open.

The room is crowded with men and women of all ages and races. His shoulders droop slightly as he eyes scarred women and burly men. He's just a teenager, with little muscle and not much to show for all his acquired knowledge.

Like the others, he is here to interview for a position in a Ravager clan. But not just any Ravager clan. The 100th Clan, newly re-inducted into the Ranks.

"Lissen up," barks a voice above them, and Jesper whirls, only to catch his breath in awe. There he is - the man he’s looked up to for as long he can remember.

Leaning over the railing on the floor above them is a Ravager dressed in maroon leathers. He is tall and wiry, his brown hair just streaked with grey and cut into a mohawk. Jesper looks for the telltale scars over the man’s left eye and smiles slightly as he sees them, the puckered skin drawn out by the lights above his head.

"Form a line," the man orders, "and we'll call ya up one at a time."

"What! That'll take all day!" someone yells out of the crowd.

The man's blue-grey eyes turn icy and narrow. He turns towards the stairs and sidles down them. Over his shoulder, Jesper spies the handle of a sheathed knife. Strapped to his thigh is a blaster, and there's another knife tucked into straps over his left forearm. Just below his right shoulder, two small arrow-like darts are strapped, signifying his rank as First Mate.

The crowd parts as he reaches the ground floor, and Jesper makes his way closer to the front. He finds himself next to a tall orange Ergon with short black hair, who politely steps aside so he can see. 

The Ravager stalks towards the person who had spoken, a tall Baluurian, who easily dwarfs the Ravager. However, the Baluurian backs up as the man approaches. "If ya don't got the patience to wait fer yer turn," the Ravager says coolly, "Then ya can git the hell out. If ya don't got time to be here, then I don't have time to waste interviewin' ya."

"I thought Kraglin Obfonteri was going to interview us, not some skinny Xandarian punk," an Aakon near Jesper says, and the man's jaw tightens slightly.

Jesper can’t keep quiet at this outrageous statement and, incredulous, turns to face him. “He _is_ Kraglin Obfonteri, you idiot!”

The Aakon looks equally incredulous and scoffs loudly. “ _Please_ , kid. A Xandarian couldn't make it to First Mate."

"Shows what you know!" Jesper shouts before he can stop himself, taking a step towards the Aakon. "Kraglin Obfonteri _is_ a Xandarian – and one of the most talented Ravagers to ever come out of the ranks! And if you don’t know that, then you’re stupider than I thought!”

There are some murmurs of assent behind him, and Jesper smiles proudly. But the Aakon isn't amused, and stalks towards him. "No one asked you, you little snot!" He raises an arm as if to backhand him across the face, but Jesper raises his fists and holds his ground.

The Ravager steps in front of him. "Yer fight ain't with him, it's with me."

The Aakon snorts. "Fine by me, _Xandarian._ You aren't anything special. If you really _are_ Obfonteri, I bet you slept your way to—"

_"Kraglin!"_

A tense silence falls over the entire room at the harsh, snarling interruption, and all faces turn upwards.

Jesper bites his lip in excitement. The Captain of the _Eclector_ and the 100th Clan himself, Yondu Udonta, stands at the railing above, eyes like glowing red coals roving briefly over the sea of faces before coming to rest on the Aakon. His scarred, blue hands are clenched on the metal, and Jesper swears he can hear the metal bend.

Unlike the rest of the crowd, the First Mate looks unperturbed at the look of anger in his Captain's face. "Sir?" he answers calmly.

"I don't got times fer the likes a' this," he snaps, gesturing at the Aakon. "If this gutter trash don't know who ya are by sight or rep, if he didn't do his homework to see exactly who he was gonna be workin' fer, then I ain't gonna consider him fer a place in the Ranks." He straightens up. "Kick his ass and git him the hell outta here." With a swirl of his maroon duster, he disappears back into the shadows of the upper level.

"Aye, Cap." Without hesitation, word, or ceremony, Kraglin Obfonteri drives a fist into the Aakon's stomach, followed by a blow to the jaw, and another kick to the gut. Before the man can regain breath or retaliate, Udonta's First Mate punches him across the face once more, and takes him by the collar. He drags him through the crowd, dumps him unceremoniously outside, and closes and locks the door.

"Now, like I was sayin',” Kraglin continues, dusting his hands as if he’d just taken out the trash instead of beaten a man unconscious, “Line up, single fi—”

Jesper sees a flash of silver – a dagger -- behind the First Mate, and yells, _“Look out!”_

Kraglin whirls, reaching for the knife over his shoulder, but it’s not needed. Before he can even curl his fingers around it, there’s a loud, eerie whine in the air and something red flashes between Kraglin and his attacker like a bloody bolt of lightning.

Another Aakon, ochre blood spilling from his lips, drops to his knees. There’s a gaping, bleeding hole in the middle of his chest. The dagger in his hand goes clattering across the tile as he falls face-first to the ground.

Above him, hovering like some vicious mechanical hummingbird, is a golden arrow, lit crimson from within.

“Anybody else gonna try to stab my First Mate in the back?” Udonta growls, and Jesper looks over to see the Ravager Captain perched halfway down the stairs.

Silence is his only reply.

 _“Good!”_ he snaps. “Cause I don’t got fuckin’ time fer this!” He whistles, and the arrow flies obediently back to him; he catches it in a fist and deposits it in a holster at his hip. With this done, he turns his gaze to Kraglin. “Git this show on the road, boy.”

“Yessir. As I was sayin! Line up, single file. No fightin', no cuts. If ya can't take this as an order, if y'aint smart enough or organized enough to form a line, or if ya can't be patient enough to wait a couple hours fer an interview, then ya ain't worth my time and y’ain't Ravager material and ya can leave right now." He waits a beat, looking around as if expecting objections, but receives none. He nods. "Good. Ya." He points to a Krylorian man. "Yer first. Go on up. The rest a' ya, line up at the bottom of the stairs.”

He turns, and Jesper nearly has a heart attack when he takes hold of his arm and puts him in a place in line, about twenty people in. “Thanks fer the warning, kid,” is all he says, and follows the Krylorian up the stairs.

* * *

"Next!"

Jesper swallows back the nausea building in his throat and tightens his bandanna for the twelfth time in the last fifteen minutes. He marches confidently up the stairs and stands before Kraglin, who is seated alone behind a folding table. Looking up from his holopad where he's making some notes, Kraglin smiles and kicks out the chair across from him. "Have a seat, kid."

"Yes sir, thanks, sir."

"Don't gotta be so polite t'me," Kraglin says. "What's yer name?"

"Jesper."

Kraglin sticks out his hand, and Jesper tries to hide his trembling as he grasps it. "Good to meet ya proper, Jesper. Thanks fer yer support down there."

He can’t prevent a flush from warming his cheeks. “O-of course, sir.”

“So,” Kraglin begins, throwing the holopad on the table and propping his feet up. "Why do ya want to be a Ravager?"

"Well, I - I'm a real good navigator. I can chart every system and star from Xandar to -"

"No, no," Kraglin says, holding up a hand. "Ain't askin' fer yer qualifications. If yer a Nav, ya could'a joined the Corps, ya could'a been a million things. Why do ya wantto be a _Ravager_?"

Jesper pauses, gnawing his lip. "I grew up on the streets on Xandar," he begins quietly, averting his eyes. "Growin up in the slums like that, ya don't got much to look forward to, ya can't amount to much of anythin'. The Corps, they're just a pipedream." He glances up at Kraglin, whose feet are back on the floor. He's watching, listening intently. "But the Ravagers - the Hordes of Freedom - it's just that. It's _freedom._ It was the only thing I could think of to leave Xandar, the only thing that I could do to see the galaxy, and maybe make a name for myself. I've always wanted to make my Momma proud," he adds before his brain can catch up with his mouth. He throws a panicked look at Kraglin, who must think he's a little sissy boy, bringing his mother up at a Ravager interview. But there's nothing in his eyes except a soft thoughtfulness, so he continues, softly. "She told me I could be something, I could be anything that I wanted, if I worked for it. And this is what I want. More than anything in the galaxy. Sir," he adds hastily, clenching his fists in his lap.

Kraglin looks at him thoughtfully for another few minutes, then gets up. "A'ight," he says, nodding. "Wait here, I'm gonna go talk to the Cap'n."

"Yes sir," he replies, nodding and trying not to betray too much hope or eagerness in his voice.

Yondu is waiting in a room at Kraglin's back, and Jesper can hear the Captain’s raspy voice filtering out through the open door. A moment later, his blue face pokes out around the door frame, ruby eyes roving over Jesper. He pulls his head back inside. "He's jus' a kid, Krags. I don't have room fer kids on my ship."

The hope in Jesper's heart dwindles like a dying fire. 

"I know he's young, Cap'n-" Kraglin's voice begins.

"He ain't jus' _young._ He's barely out of childhood," Yondu snaps back. "I don't need another Peter to run after and worry m'head 'bout. _Gods."_

Kraglin comes back into the doorway and throws Jesper a sympathetic look.

 _No,_ Jesper thinks. _I ain't gonna let this happen._ He jumps up from his chair and strides nearer to the room. Kraglin watches him as he approaches, closing his mouth. Inside the room, Yondu falls quiet as well, and comes into the doorway.

“Got somethin’ to say, boy?”

"All due respect sirs," he says, drawing himself up to his fullest height, "I didn't come all the way from Xandar on stolen and bargained vehicles, spendin' every unit to m'name to let ya turn me out because of my age. I know I can do a good job on yer ship, I know I can follow orders and be useful. If ya turn me out right now, I'll just find the _Eclector_ myself and stow away on board if I have to!" He stands there, panting slightly, fists clenched tight.

Yondu stares at him, and something flashes in his eyes. Then he turns to Kraglin, snaps his fingers at him. He and the First Mate step back into the room, closing the door behind them.

Jesper can’t hear much of what they’re saying – their voices are too muffled. At one point there’s a loud, unmistakable “No!” from the Captain, but then the voices are lowered again. When the door opens again, Kraglin stands there, looking pleased.

Yondu pushes past him. "He's yer responsibility," the Captain snaps over his shoulder, then leans over the railing. "Next!"

Panic rises in Jesper's chest, but he feels a hand on his shoulder. "Stick around, kid," Kraglin says. "We'll go over formalities later."

"Y-you mean - I'm in?" Jesper gasps, turning.

Kraglin extends a hand. "Welcome to the Ravagers, kid."

Jesper can't decide if he wants to cry, laugh, or faint as he closes his hand around Kraglin's. "Thank you, sir! You won't regret this."


	4. Jesper: Whatever it Takes (part 2 of 2)

After several hours, Jesper lifts his head to see Kraglin and Yondu emerge from the building. The Captain heads in one direction, but the First Mate spots the new recruit and heads his way. “When I told ya to stick around, I didn’t mean right outside the building, kid. Ya could’a got somethin’ to eat or whatever.”

Jesper shrugs, and Kraglin pauses, studying him. He puts his hands on his hips. “When ya said ya done spent every unit to yer name, ya meant it, didn’t ya.”

Jesper drops his gaze to his feet, blushing slightly. “Yessir.”

“Uh huh. Ya hungry?”

Jesper looks back up with a grin to see Kraglin is also smiling. “Starved.”

“And ya might mean it literal. C’mon, follow me.”

A short time later, Jesper sits across from Kraglin in a small booth in a bar, belly full and feeling the happiest he’s ever been. He still can’t believe he’s sitting, eating, and drinking with his idol. It’s a dream come true. He did it. He’s going to be a Ravager.

“Okay. Ya ready fer yer first mission?”

This snaps Jesper out of his idyllic thoughts, and he pushes down the bubble of panic that rises in his throat. “Aye sir.”

“I like that enthusiasm. And yer listenin’. Tha’s good. Now. Ya said ya grew up on the streets; that means ya must know how to pick a pocket. Right?”

Jesper bites his lip. His mother had taught him never to steal if he could help it. However, especially after the attack on Xandar by Ronan, food and other necessities had been hard to come by and he'd gotten very good at it. “Yeah,” he says, hoping he doesn't sound too reluctant.

“Good. I wantcha to pick a mark. It can be anybody at the bar. Get one item off ‘em. Don’t care if it’s units or somethin’ else. It can be tricky or sneaky, do it however ya want. Jus’ don’t’ get caught. If ya get caught, I ain’t savin’ ya from the fallout. Bring the item back to me. And take yer time, we got all day.”

Jesper swallows and nods, rising from his seat, and heads towards the bar.

Kraglin observes casually, leaned far back in his seat. He lets his eyes roam all over the place but is careful not to look at the bar particularly. He lets his ears listen for trouble. Some five minutes later, he hears a yell and Jesper’s voice, and flinches slightly. _Shit. Kid got caught._

But just a few minutes afterwards, Jesper appears again with a stack of napkins, sliding into his seat.

Kraglin raises an eyebrow. “I heard someone yell atcha.”

“Yessir. Just part of the act. Pretended I tripped and knocked into him. People don’t look twice because I’m young.”

Kraglin gives a short snort of laughter. “A’ight. So whatcha got?”

“Under the napkins.”

Kraglin slides the napkins aside as he takes a large sip of his drink. Underneath is a large golden coin; stamped upon it is the image of a beast with short tusks and three eyes. He inhales the liquid, and coughs, quickly slapping his hand over the coin, hiding it. After he's regained his breath, he eyes Jesper. “Where'd ya git this?” He asks in a tense tone.

“Uh -”

“Don't point, don't even look. Tell me where, and what they're wearin'.”

“Far end of the bar, right side. Green jacket.”

Furtively, Kraglin glances that way, then hides his face behind a hand, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Hahaha... _shit.”_

Jesper is regretting eating and drinking so much as the food seems to turn to stone in his stomach. “Wh- what's wrong?”

“Ya heard of the Vakauza?”

Jesper grows very still, eyes wide. “Yeah.”

“Well, that coin ya picked up? It's a Vakauza token. A calling card, a gang symbol, like the Ravager Flame. Ya picked a Vakauza's pocket. A particularly nasty one named Cuznut.” He grins ruefully, shaking his head. “I don’t believe this.”

Jesper gulps. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. What do I do?”

“It’s okay, boy. I ain’t angry, but we gotta get outta this. Lemme think.” Kraglin's eyes dart around. “Okay. Here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna git up and go out the back. As soon as I get up, yer gonna count to ten. When yer at ten, yer gonna git up, walk out the front door, and turn right. Yer gonna meet me in the alley, I'll be waitin' fer ya. Got that?”

“Yessir.”

“Now, don't act nervous. Don't rush out, but don't walk too slow. Don't look around, just walk straight out. Understand? Yer gonna be fine.” Downing the rest of his drink in one gulp, Kraglin tosses a pile of units on the table and stands, making his way quickly towards the rear exit. A push through the doors, past the trash cans, and he’s in the dingy back alley.

He lingers in the shadow of the next building, eyes flicking between the back door to make sure he wasn’t followed and the street, waiting for Jesper to appear. His heart starts to beat faster as the seconds tick by. He began to count as soon as he got up as well, and now he’s counted well over thirty. Fifty seconds. The kid should have been in the alley by now. Seventy. _Somethin’s wrong._

His feet move forward, one hand going to the blaster secured at his thigh, the other to the kukri sheathed over his left shoulder. He's still hidden in the shadows, a few strides away from the street when Jesper hits the dusty ground, hard, in front of him. His face is bloody, and the dirt is splattered blue as he lands.

“Little punk bitch!” a voice shouts.

The boy tries to scramble away, but someone jumps into view, seizing his ankle.

It's the Vakauza, Cuznut. “Oh no you don't, you little scumsucker! I'm gonna blow your brains out!” He pulls out a blaster and aims it between Jesper's terrified eyes. “No one steals from the Vakauza!”

“And no Vakauza hurts a Ravager and gits away with it,” Kraglin hisses, rushing forward and pressing his blaster to the man's temple. He loops his left arm around his neck, pressing the knife blade against his throat. “Drop yer gun, _scumsucker.”_

The man's eyes flick to his. “Obfonteri. I thought that was you.”

“Drop it.”

“This greenstick ain’t a Ravager. He ain’t wearin' the flame. 'Sides, I heard Yondu is dead. What crew you running with?”

“Don't know where yer gettin' yer information, but Cap’n Udonta ain't never been more alive. And the kid might not be wearin' the flame yet, but he _is_ a Ravager, make no mistake about it. So fer the last time,” Kraglin presses the knife more firmly against the man's jugular, causing a hair-thin cut to appear. “ _Drop. Yer. Gun.”_

He instantly does so. 

Kraglin releases him, still keeping his gun trained on him, and slowly sheathes his knife after wiping any blood off on the Vakauza’s shoulder. 

“You're in for it, Obfonteri,” Cuznut says. “You're dead.”

Kraglin backs up, never taking his eyes off his enemy, and lowers his left hand down towards Jesper, who's still lying in the street. “Can ya walk, boy?”

“Y-yessir,” he answers, and Kraglin squeezes the grip of his gun tighter. Sounds like the boy got quite a wallop; his voice is nasally and strained. To his relief, though, Jesper grips his hand securely and gets to his feet. Without any direction from Kraglin, the boy jumps forward a few paces and retrieves the Vakauza's weapon from the dirt. 

_Good boy._ “Don’t see how _I’m_ the dead one.” Kraglin asks, smirking at the enemy. “I got all the guns.”

The Vakauza smiles and raises his arms. “Oh, yer dead all right.” On the underside of his wrist is something blinking. A transmitter. “The rest of my crew is already on the way.” There’s the faint sound of shouts and running feet, and Cuznut glances swiftly over his shoulder. A group of men round the corner, heading straight for them. “There they are now.”

Kraglin keeps his smirk, but murmurs, “Shit.” Then, in a voice so quiet it's meant only for Jesper's ears, “Ya can walk, but can ya run?”

The boy swallows visibly, but nods.

“Good. Whatever ya do, don’t let me outta yer sights.” Without any warning, Kraglin raises his gun and fires a shot straight right through Cuznut’s leg. “Run!”

Jesper, blood streaked across his face and arm, keeps pace with Kraglin. He doesn’t speak, just runs and follows the First Mate where ever he goes – darting down alleyways, side streets, swerving and doing their best to leave the Vakauza behind.

“Cap’n! Cap’n, come in!” Kraglin shouts into his wrist com. “Vakauza in the area, I need immediate evac!”

_“Shit! Gimme yer coordinates and find a rooftop!”_

“Sending coordinates now!” Kraglin comes to an abrupt stop, and yanks Jesper towards a ladder. “Up ya go, boy! Hurry!”

Jesper stares up the ladder; the height of the building makes his head spin, but he climbs anyway, quickly and without question.

There’s the whine and subsequent sizzling crack of blastershot hitting brick, and Kraglin ducks. _“Dammit!_ Climb faster, kid!”

Kraglin jumps and flings himself up the ladder, climbing as quick as he can. The boy above him is making good time, skipping rungs. He’s almost at the top already, and Kraglin isn’t far behind with his long legs.

Another shot from a blaster sizzles next to his head, cutting clean through the wrung he’s holding on to. His eyes go wide as he loses his grip, but there’s a sudden strong grip on his arm, pulling him upwards. He looks up into Jesper’s blood-covered face to see his green eyes wide with fear and panic.

_“Hold on, sir!”_

Kraglin flings an arm up to the next wrung and hauls himself onto the rooftop; with a few well-placed blaster shots and strong kicks, the ladder makes an awful metallic groan and collapses into the alley below. But the Vakauza aren’t stopping that easily, and they climb the ladder on the building adjacent, intending to jump the narrow gap between buildings.

Blastershot nips at Kraglin’s heels as he races to the other side of the building. “Cap’n!” he shouts into his wrist com. “Where the hell are ya?”

_“Closin’ in! Get ready to jump!”_

“Aye – _shit! Down!”_ He shields Jesper, pushing his head towards the ground as blaster shot pelts the brick around them.

There’s a roar of engines and the crackle of powerful gunfire. Above it, the same eerie whine Jesper had heard back in the recruitment meeting. He chance a look over Kraglin’s shoulder and sees the Captain’s Yaka Arrow dancing and needling its way through Vakauza.

_“Havin’ trouble pilotin’, shootin’ and whistling at the same time, boy! Get yer ass off that roof!”_

Kraglin straightens up and looks over the roof. He hauls Jesper up by the arm. “Ya trust me, Jesper?”

“Y-Yes sir!”

“Good! This way!” Kraglin lets go and taking a running leap, dives off the side of the building.

Every instinct Jesper has is screaming not to do the same, but he’s a Ravager of the _Eclector_ and he’s been given a direct order by the First Mate.

He jumps.

A gasping yell tears from his lips as he hangs in open space. Then an M-ship fills his view, tilted completely sideways. He drops into the ship’s interior where Kraglin is waiting to catch him, snagging his jacket and pushing him into a seat before launching himself into the co-pilot chair next to the Captain. The arrow follows, whisking between the two pilots, and the door to the ship slams shut.

“Yer a Nav, right?” Yondu bellows back at him.

The wind had been knocked out of Jesper with the jump and it’s a fraction of a moment before he can answer. “Y-Yes sir,” he gasps out.

Yondu yanks down a navigation screen next to him. “Plot me a course outta here! Don’t care where – just not Kree, Skrull, or Sovereign territory!”

Jesper scrambles forward between Yondu and Kraglin’s seats, mind racing through coordinates and courses, fingers flying over the screen’s holographic surface. He punches the large blue button to set the path. “Done!”

Yondu’s hands dance over the console, pushing buttons and pulling levers. He pulls on one last lever and they rocket forward at top speed, over the buildings, into the atmosphere and out into the blackness of space. They come upon a jump point almost immediately, the hexagonal cells illuminating briefly as the ship flies through. The alarms that had been signaling enemy craft stop their frantic chimes, and all of the lights go from threatening reds to mellow greens and blues.

“Holy shit,” Jesper says, sitting back down heavily on the floor.

Yondu cackles loudly at this. “Welcome to the Ravagers, boy.” He pulls the Navigation screen towards him. “Arago system, huh?”

“Yessir. Just on the edge of Nova Territory. Didn’t think they’d follow us there.”

“Hm.” Yondu nods, unbuckles, and turns in his seat to look at Jesper. “Not bad, not- _damn,_ boy. What happened to yer face?”

Jesper raises a hand to touch his face; his fingers shake and come away sticky with blood.

“Ya good here, Cap?”

“Yeah, Krags. Go take care of him.”

“Aye.” Kraglin unbuckles and helps Jesper to his feet. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get ya cleaned up.” He leads him to the back of a ship where a cot is set into an alcove, and pulls out some antiseptic wipes and bandage.

“Th-that wasn’t part of the test, was it?”

Kraglin pauses with a bandage, stares at him for a second, then throws his head back laughing. “Gods no. That weren’t part of the test. But if it were,” he adds with a gentler smile, “Ya done passed with flyin’ colors.”

“I did?”

“Ya listened t’me and done what I told ya to do. Ya didn’t back down, ya didn’t argue, and ya plotted us a perfect course outta here. Ya done good.” He nods thoughtfully as he helps Jesper clean off his face. “Yeah, I think yer gonna do jus’ fine as a Ravager, boy.”

Jesper beams. “Thank you, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this has been sitting on my computer for awhile, so I thought I'd finish it up. Especially since we might be seeing the Vakauza* again soon in Vital Part 3....
> 
> *While I try to use as much of the Marvel Cinematic and Comic Book universe as I can, the Vakauza are an original creation, meant to be a sort of rival organization to the Ravagers.


End file.
